


Since First We Knew Love

by youjik33



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Original Ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9692558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjik33/pseuds/youjik33
Summary: A haunted theater, a ghostly ballerina, and something that can't possibly be a curse lead Erin to re-examine her feelings for Abby.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).



“We just got a call,” Kevin said as Erin went to get herself another cup of coffee. “The Webigail Theater has some hauntings and stuff.”

“The what now?” Erin blinked. “Webigail?”

“Wait, the Ebondale?” Patty piped up. “That’s one of the oldest theaters in the city.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure she said Webigail,” Kevin insisted.

“Kevin,” Abby said with a sigh, “Webigail is the girl duck from Duck-Tales.”

“The Ebondale Theater’s got a history of ghost sightings,” Patty said. “I mean, even before the whole Rowan machine incident. Give me ten minutes, I’ll get you a report.”

“Ooh, we can use the prototype containment unit,” Holtzmann gushed. “Just gimme a sec to finish the soldering so it doesn’t explode on activation.”

“We’re not going in guns blazing this time!” Erin said. She was already picking up the phone to call the theater back for more information; Kevin was getting better about giving them messages in a timely manner, but he still wasn’t filling out the client info forms Erin had put together for him. Baby steps. “I really want to at least try to talk to it this time.”

They hadn’t had much luck in that department. In the months since they’d saved the city from Rowan’s portal, they’d had quite a few run-ins with local ghosts. Whether the portal had made them more active or the Ghostbusters were just well-known enough to get calls now, they couldn’t be quite sure. But for all Erin’s efforts, they’d never had a ghost actually speak to them, though quite a few had seemed to be listening before they inevitably started spewing ectoplasm.

With nothing else to do to prepare, Abby took the opportunity to order some dim sum. They always had an easier time brainstorming on full stomachs, and somehow Bennie always managed to get their order to them within 20 minutes nowadays, even though their new firehouse headquarters was miles away from the restaurant.

 

Before long they were sitting around their fancy round meeting table. (Erin had picked it out – it had a shiny black wood finish and looked like something that should be found in a Fortune 500 company office; it made her feel more professional, and the others hadn’t teased her too hard about it.)

“All right,” Erin said, looking over the notes she’d made from her phone conversation with the theater director. “Apparently there have, as Patty said, been ghost sightings at the theater for years, but usually they were just, you know, unexplained footsteps, the occasional shadowy figure moving through the dressing rooms. Nothing very substantial, up until the last few weeks. They just started rehearsal for the Sleeping Beauty ballet, and two different members of the ensemble claim they were pushed violently from behind backstage. And the director herself said that the other night, when she was in the theater alone, she saw a woman in an elaborate headdress move across the stage and disappear.”

“Calaboose!” Patty blurted. The others turned to look at her. “Sorry, I got kind of excited,” she said. “Okay, so, the Ebondale is almost 200 years old, so naturally people have died there over the years.”

“Naturally,” Holtzmann said. She had her feet up on the table, and Erin frowned at her.

“Mostly it’s just, you know, old folks at matinee shows having heart attacks, stuff like that. And one guy playing Judas in a production of Jesus Christ Stuperstar in the 90s accidentally hanged himself for real.”

“Eesh,” Abby muttered, and popped another dumpling into her mouth.

“But here’s the most interesting one: 1957, a ballerina was found stabbed to death backstage shortly before a production of, guess what? Sleeping Beauty. She was playing Carabosse in the production – the evil fairy.”

“The Maleficent of Tchaikovsky,” Holtzmann offered.

“You could say that. Carabosse is frequently played by a male dancer, but I guess Evelyn Brooke was a very imposing lady. She was married to Edgar Brooke, the director of the theater at the time, who was, apparently, having an affair with Margaret Ambrose, who was playing the Lilac Fairy.”

“Sounds like the good fairy wasn’t so good,” Abby said.

“Yeah, well, she was a prime suspect in the murder, too,” Patty continued. “But there wasn’t any solid evidence; Evelyn had a bloody knife in her hand, and Margaret and Edgar both insisted the stabbing must have been self-inflicted. They left the theater in disgrace when the scandal broke, but the death was ultimately ruled a suicide. They’ve both been dead for years, though, so I guess we’ll never know.”

“Or maybe we will,” Erin said. She was going to talk to that ghost or die trying, even if the others didn’t have her back.

“Okay,” Abby spoke up. “So sounds like we have an angry possibly-murdered spurned lover, who is apparently really upset that the theater’s staging the ballet that was going on when she was spurned and possibly murdered. That’s a good place to start.”

“Ghostbusters, roll out!” Patty exclaimed. The others looked at her. “What?” she said. “I never get to say it.”

 

The Ebondale certainly looked the part of a haunted theater. The lobby was painted a peculiar shade of green, with a giant chandelier sparkling high above and two long, sweeping staircases going up to the balcony. The director of the ballet was pacing the thick burgundy carpet, wringing her hands, when they entered.

“Thank God you’re here,” she blurted as they entered, then glanced over the group with an expression of confusion. “There are five of you? Did you get a new member?”

“He’s in training,” Abby said. Actually, Kevin had pretty much begged to be allowed to come, and he promised to follow their orders exactly. It wasn’t like he really did a better job answering the phones than the voicemail did, anyway.

“Ms. Jackson, I’m Erin Gilbert, we spoke on the phone.” Erin stepped forward, putting on her most professional voice. “We’re going to attempt to communicate with the spirit first. Would you mind showing us where the incidents have taken place?”

“Everywhere backstage, really,” Ms. Jackson replied. “But they do seem to be centered on the dressing room where... we don’t like to talk about this much around here, but there was a suicide here back in the 1950s.”

“Suicide, my ass,” Patty muttered. “It was definitely murder.”

“If you’ll just follow me, “ Ms. Jackson continued. As they started across the lobby, however, the chandelier flickered. They all looked up, watching it sway softly, crystals tinkling against each other like windchimes in a gentle breeze.

“Okay, people, pick up the pace,” Abby said, getting behind Kevin and Holtzmann and ushering them across the carpet. “And let’s hope this ghost isn’t a fan of _Phantom of the Opera_.”

“She’s here,” Ms. Jackson breathed. “I don’t know where, but she’s here.”

“I’ve got a huge spike on the PKE meter,” Holtzmann said, holding up the handheld device and squinting at the screen. “It seems to be moving around a lot, though.”

“Okay, team, get ready,” Abby said, pulling the wand off her proton pack.

“Hold this and don’t move,” Holtzmann said, shoving the PKE meter into Kevin’s hand. Moving equipment was one thing, but the rest of them didn’t quite trust him with what basically amounted to a hand-held plasma canon. At least not yet.

“There,” Patty said, pointing with the end of her wand toward the top of the nearby staircase. A glowing blue figure was starting to take shape, already vaguely humanoid. Ms. Jackson calmly and quietly stepped behind Kevin, not quite cowering.

“Huh,” Patty continued as the figure gradually clarified. “Do you think she died in that costume, or is that just a ghost aesthetic thing?”

The spectre now standing at the top of the stairs was wearing a many-layered, floor-length skirt (or at least, it probably would have been floor-length, if her legs didn’t fade into invisibility just below the knees, leaving her floating above the carpet), with full, gathered sleeves. The most striking thing about her, though, was her skullcap, with two large, twisting rams’ horns covering each ear. She looked like a cross between Maleficent and Tim the Enchanter.

Abby, Patty, and Holtzmann all raised their proton wands. “Wait!” Erin said. “Let me at least try.”

“Erin,” Abby said, a hint of worry in your voice. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Hi,” Erin said, advancing to the foot of the stairs. “Evelyn Brooke? Is that your name?”

The ghost just floated there, silently. Her face was a mask of haughty indifference.

Erin glanced over her shoulder at the others, shrugged, and turned back to the ghost. She wasn’t sure climbing the stars was a good idea; if the ghost slimed her – a definite possibility – there was a good chance she’d fall backwards down the stars. “We hear you’ve been hurting people,” she said. “Do you, um, want to talk about it?”

Holtzmann stifled a giggle, which Erin ignored.

“These people here just want to put on their ballet. If you promise to leave them alone, then we don’t have to fight you.”

The spectre’s form shook, and a deep, booming sound filled the lobby, sending the chandelier rattling. It took Erin a moment to realize the sound was laughter.

“Lies, it’s all lies!” The spectre’s mouth wasn’t moving, and the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, but there was no doubt she was its source. “This fairy tale, it’s empty nonsense! True love? There is no such thing as love! I was spurned and discarded, and you – you, who dares to accost me! You will sleep forever, for there is no prince to kiss you awake!”

With a wail, the spectre flew down the stairs, face contorted in rage.

“Watch out!” Abby shouted, pushing Erin aside. Evelyn Brooke flew right through Abby, who stumbled backwards, bumped into Kevin, and keeled over onto the carpet. Ms. Jackson screamed and dove behind a potted fern.

“Get her!” Erin shouted. The others didn’t have to be told twice. Holtzmann kicked the trap into the middle of the lobby, and she, Erin, and Patty had the ghost lassoed in seconds, wrestling it into the trap.

“Sheesh, what a drama queen,” Holtzmann said as the trap snapped shut, leaving a faint electric scent in the air. “Abby, you okay?”

Abby didn’t respond, just lay there face down in the carpet.

“Abby?” Erin knelt beside her, reached down unthinkingly to take her pulse. It was steady and strong, and Erin let out a relieved breath. “Did she faint?” She looked up at Kevin, who was still standing there silently. “Why didn’t you catch her?”

“We told him not to move,” Patty said incredulously. “That’s kinda both sad and impressive.”

“You can move now, Kevin,” Erin said with a sigh.

“Oh, great! Good job, everyone!” Kevin said with a grin.

“It’s not great, Kevin, something’s seriously wrong with Abby,” Erin snapped.

“Oh, really? She’s not just napping? She really loves naps, and that carpet looks pretty comfy.”

Erin inwardly cursed his dumb handsome face, but all she said was, “Help me get the proton pack off, will you?”

They did so, and Ms. Jackson helped them get Abby onto one of the cushioned benches against the wall.

“Is she all right?” she asked. “You’ve dealt with this kind of thing before, right?”

“Not like this,” Erin murmured. “Her heart rate and breathing seem normal, but she won’t wake up.”

“The witch’s curse,” Patty said. The others turned to look at her. “Sleeping Beauty. You guys all know the story. The witch curses the princess to sleep...”

“Until the prince awakens her with a kiss,” Erin continued. “But, come on. This can’t be a curse.”

“Can’t it, though?” Holtzmann said, raising an eyebrow.

And, okay, Erin had to admit that maybe she shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the idea, considering not so long ago they’d discovered the reality of leylines and portals to the other side. “So what do we do?” she said. “We don’t have a prince.”

She turned to look at Kevin. He was pushing every button on the PKE meter, in turn, with a very intense look on his face. With the ghost safely contained, the meter wasn’t responding at all, but that didn’t seem to deter him.

Patty saw her looking, and shrugged. “He’s dumb as a box of hammers, but he does _look_ like a Disney prince.”

 _“I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss,”_ Holtzmann sang to herself.

“Really, Holtzmann, this is serious,” Erin said.

“Not yet it isn’t,” Holtzmann countered. “I don’t like to panic until after we’ve exhausted our immediate options, at least.”

“All right, Kevin, go for it,” Erin said.

“Hm?” He looked up from the PKE meter’s blank screen. “Go for what?”

“Were you really not listening to a word... no, of course you weren’t. Could you try kissing Abby?”

“What, now?” He frowned. “She’s sleeping.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the whole problem,” Erin said. “Just a little peck.”

“I don’t think she’d be too happy about that.”

“Well, no, but I don’t think she’d be too happy about being cursed to sleep for eternity, either, so...”

“Fair enough,” Kevin said. Erin felt just a little, tiny, very brief stab of jealousy as he bent down to brush his lips lightly against Abby’s. He pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Abby didn’t stir, which wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“Okay, Erin, you’re up,” Holtzmann said.

“Wait, me?” Erin asked. “Why me?”

Holtzmann gave her a pointed stare, which made Erin squirm. All right, so maybe she had kind of suspected, back when they were in college, that Abby might possibly maybe be interested in her, in a not-exactly-platonic way. And she was okay with that, even if she didn’t reciprocate.

Mostly didn’t reciprocate.

Erin cared about Abby, obviously. Loved her, even, sure – she dove into a tear in the fabric of space to save her without hesitation, which surely counted for something. And back in college, when they were staying out all night in empty houses, freezing their butts off and straining their ears at every tiny creak or distant barking dog, there had been a couple of times when Erin had thought about whether Abby was thinking about kissing her, whether Erin wanted her to.

She was very aware that she was overthinking things. Before she could rationalize a reason not to, Erin knelt beside the bench, leaned in, and brushed her lips over Abby’s. She’d meant it to be a soft, quick nothing of a kiss, but the instant they touched she felt an electric jolt. It made her rock back on her heels in surprise, and then Abby was opening her eyes and sitting up.

“What the hell, where did the ghost go?” she asked.

The others just stared at her.

“And where did Kevin get a bag of popcorn?”

They all turned to look at him.

“There’s a cart just outside,” he said, and popped another handful into his mouth.

 

 

Evelyn Brooke became the first resident of Holtzmann’s new containment unit. It looked like a giant glass cylinder, although technically it was made of transparent aluminum, and the angry spirit circled it like a fish in a bowl, occasionally dissolving into a swirl of ectoplasm and then re-forming again. Erin had talked to a ghost at last, but somehow she didn’t feel like she’d made any real breakthrough.

She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened with Abby, either. She seemed fine once she woke up, if a little disoriented. Calling it a curse sounded ridiculous, but certainly the ghost had done something to her, interfered with her nervous system somehow. Erin had written up a brief report of the incident, but she kept erasing lines at the end and re-writing them. She didn’t know if she should include that electric jolt that had passed between herself and Abby when their lips had touched. Was it relevant to the case, or had that just been her imagination?

Had Erin just felt what she’d wanted to feel?

She sighed and closed the lid of the laptop. Her cup of chamomile tea had gone cold, but she drained the rest of it anyway. The others had gone home long ago. Now it was just her and Evelyn. Erin approached the containment unit cautiously. They were gonna have to get some kind of cover for the thing eventually; it was disconcerting, having a ghost watching her while she was trying to work. She put her hand on the front of the unit, and Evelyn flickered over to it, staring at her.

“You were wrong, you know,” Erin said. “What happened to you was awful, and I understand why you might have a hard time believing it, but love is real. It’s confusing and complicated and it sometimes makes things really awkward, but it’s real.”

The spectre scowled at her from behind the glass, but made no reply. Erin wasn’t even sure her words were getting through, literally or figuratively, but she kept talking.

“Maybe love’s not scientifically quantifiable. Maybe we just haven’t figured out the right way to quantify it yet. And maybe I’m not ever going to completely understand how I feel about Abby, but I know we do love each other, whatever your definition of ‘love’ is. And I’m sorry that you didn’t have that.”

The spirit floated away to the other side of the unit. It was ignoring her, which was just as well. Erin was mostly talking to herself, anyway. “Oooh, I do want to kiss her again!” she said, clenching her fists. “Is that bad? Dating coworkers is bad, right? And this is not like the Kevin thing – I mean, Kevin is gorgeous, but that’s not serious. This would be serious. It could be a horrible mistake but I kind of want to do it anyway.”

From behind Erin came the sound of a throat being cleared, the way a person only does when they want someone else to know they’re there but don’t know what to say. Mortified, Erin turned around very, very slowly.

Abby was standing in the doorway, because of course she was. She was holding a box of doughnuts, because of course she was.

“I brought thank-you doughnuts,” she said. “Uh, thank you for breaking the weird ghost sleep curse.”

“No problem,” Erin squeaked. “So, um. You were standing there for a while, weren’t you.”

“It was a pretty nice speech in the beginning. Got a little rambly at the end.” She set the box down on the desk. “You know, Erin, if you want to kiss me, just ask. In fact, you don’t even have to ask. Just do it.”

“Okay,” Erin said, and did.

 


End file.
